


in storms and at sunset

by copperiisulfate



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23591935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperiisulfate/pseuds/copperiisulfate
Summary: Izumo takes a deep breath, settles for, "If washed out to sea: return to Suoh Mikoto. Should've gotten that tattooed on my back instead."Alternatively: adventures in fine-tuning the Red Aura lead them to the shore.
Relationships: Kusanagi Izumo/Suoh Mikoto
Comments: 14
Kudos: 32





	in storms and at sunset

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chiaki_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiaki_c/gifts).



> set shortly after mikoto's awakening as the red king and somewhat inspired by that short story of tiny mikoto going swimming. my memory of the novels timeline is largely a jumble by now so fingers crossed i didn't butcher the chronology too much.
> 
> title from 'to the harbormaster' by frank o'hara.

"Anyway," Izumo tells him, when they're first trying to get a handle on this _thing_ Mikoto seems to have bestowed upon them unwittingly overnight, "you typically need two things to start a fire: an open space and the force to generate the flame."

"Science lesson's great and all," Mikoto huffs, "but it's not like that. It's _on_ and then it _isn't_."

"Except when it's _on,_ you go from zero to hundred before you know it," Izumo frowns.

"Last one was _yours_ ," Mikoto fires back, tipping his head with accusation to the topmost scorch mark on the wall by the front door.

Izumo puts his hands up in the air in mock-surrender. So yes, Mikoto's right. They're both miserable at this and have a lot of work to do. Somehow, it almost feels like Totsuka lucked out. His flames, weak as they were, were also far more controlled. His presence had helped both Mikoto and Izumo gain a better handle and precision with their own powers but they knew that they would all need to be able to figure it out when in a pinch and on their own eventually.

Practice at that was what this was _supposed_ to be, and the bar was overdue for renovations anyway, thought a reckless part of Izumo's mind last night and into the early morning hours when he and Mikoto had drunkenly deemed it a good idea at the time.

Now, slightly more clear-headed, he gathers that that may not have been ideal for multiple reasons. There may be some downsides to experimenting with _firepower_ of all things in a place that also happens to contain large and very expensive supplies of his late uncle's _alcohol_.

He secures and stows most of it away then, leaving a bottle in plain sight for, well, emergencies. He then tries to think of open spaces where foot-traffic is also scarce which is no small feat in the middle of a regular workday in the heart of Shizume.

x

They drive out towards a remote part of the coast that's got a smattering of rocks and some sandy patches and isn't frequented all that much.

From twenty-something feet away and with a flick of his thumb and forefinger, Izumo manages to light up four bottles he'd jammed in a row in the sand. In truth, he hadn't expected it to work and wasn't sure if he was just resonating better with the aura over time or if this was just a giant fluke. Still, looking out at the small flames flickering out of the bottle-openings, not unlike candle-light, he can't help but feel the slightest bit satisfied.

"Show-off," Mikoto mutters under his breath, followed by, "my turn."

His turn entails turning up the intensity of the existing flames to _eleven_ and then, even higher, until they congregate into one, a single row of fire, right before the bottles begin to shake. The resulting explosion is like napalm on a smaller scale and the glass shatters to pieces and scatters in all directions. Though they are likely far enough away, Izumo reflexively shoves them both towards the ground to be safe.

"So I'm glad we left the bar right about now," Izumo says, an edge in it.

Mikoto glares at him in return. "We can't all be you."

Izumo sighs, feels the sting and realizes that they're both feeling it in different ways. "Not what I meant."

"What's the point? Isn't it fine the way it is?"

Izumo considers a moment. "The point is practice. I can't do what you just did either."

So they try again, and again, and again--and leave the poor bottles out of it after that first spectacle. They try from different angles, varying distances, and then, with eyes closed, turned away, with the other spectating and providing ruthless commentary all the while.

Hours later, they remain a work in progress but, more and more, Izumo finds that where his own flames are more of a scalpel, Mikoto's are a battle-axe. He knows this is valuable with respect to what they each need to improve on but it doesn't entirely escape him either that both skill-sets will likely, sooner or later, serve them well.

x

Exhausted, they find themselves walking aimlessly along the water and wind up in a place more familiar in that Izumo has often heard of it but never really ventured out firsthand. It hits him quite suddenly, the _feeling_ preceeding any other physical indication that this is it: Kagutsu's legacy on either side of him, one in the flesh and the other in geography--a good chunk of the coastline altered by what was once a mass grave and crater. Looking at the surface, it seems oddly serene, just sand and water like any other empty beach.

He thinks he liked the world a lot better when he thought it was just some stupid myth.

"Ah," Mikoto says, "haven't been here in a while."

Izumo throws him a puzzled look and Mikoto goes on to explain that he would come here as a kid with his grandfather, swam around and remembered the water being cool and clear.

Izumo wants to ask if this really is the kind of place to do that and if Mikoto had known the legend then but decides against it, listens intently instead. Besides, it's not often that he talks about his early life or family. 

(Once, he'd told Izumo, half-way asleep and probably more than a little drunk: "Y'know, he would've liked you." At the time, they'd still been trying to learn their way around one another and Izumo hadn't thought to ask.)

"So I definitely didn't come dressed for a swim," Izumo says, just as Mikoto stops in his tracks and appears to be considering something Izumo doesn't particularly like the look of.

Mikoto shrugs a shoulder in response and starts tugging off his shoes and socks and outer layers as if it has already been decided.

"Tell me we're not _really_ doing this--"

But Mikoto's already walking towards the ocean, calling out, "Need to cool down. It's just water. Won't kill ya."

Izumo squints against the sun at the ridiculous sight of him: a vivid fleck of red against the endless blue of sky and sea. In all honesty, Izumo feels himself breathe a little easy. This is the most relaxed he has seen Mikoto since the dawning of the entire King ordeal, which now simultaneously feels like not that long ago and also like forever.

 _Well_ , he thinks, sighing in spite of himself and stripping down to his boxers: it's all more than a little infectious, much like the rest of his energy, and can't be helped.

After several successful attempts at dragging each other under, the initial shock of cool water feels increasingly warmer against Izumo's skin and welcome with the sun filtering in and out through the clouds and beating down on them when it can.

Though they don't get all that far from the shore and the water is barely up to their necks, the steeper drop in the seabed appears to not be too far from here going by the darkening water ahead.

Izumo tries not to think about it--something about getting swept up by higher tides has always put him on edge, along with the thought of being left adrift and alone. Mostly, he knows that he likes to be in some semblance of control, and the thought of getting further and further away from the certainty of the shore, of losing his footing--

"Relax," says Mikoto by his ear, quiet and low, and Izumo turns to find him closer than he'd remembered, thinking he must have gotten lost in thought looking out at the sea. With his wet hair plastered to his forehead, he is a comical sight to behold, not unlike a large wet cat, except this cat is good with water, far more comfortable in it than he has any right being. "I'd fish you out," Mikoto grins, and fair enough--he's allowed to be as smug about this as he wants to because they both know that between the two of them, Mikoto is far more in his element here. 

Izumo wants to laugh, and also maybe, for a sudden and inexplicable moment, burst into tears a little bit. Sometimes, especially with all the whirlwind change as of late, it's easy to forget that they tether _each other_ , even if at times in the strangest and smallest of ways.

Izumo takes a deep breath, settles for, "If washed out to sea: return to Suoh Mikoto. Should've gotten that tattooed on my back instead."

With his eyes on Izumo's, Mikoto traces his finger faintly over his right shoulder blade, where the Homra mark is etched onto his skin. For a moment, all is still with the exception of the gentle lapping of waves.

"I like the one you've got," and his lips twitch a fraction, "says more or less the same thing."

Izumo can't help but let out a laugh, the earlier unease mostly overtaken by fondness. It's all just been inside out and upside-down and they may as well already be lost at sea, what with the rollercoaster ride the past few weeks have been, but Mikoto shifts ever so slightly forward and Izumo turns further towards him. When Mikoto kisses him, it's still smoke and salt and everything from _before,_ just heightened some, an undercurrent in it of _otherworldliness,_ or maybe it's just his imagination. 

For a moment, it feels like they are outside of time itself, and that they can afford to be, and, like a lifeline, Izumo tries his hardest to hold on to it.

"Hey," says Izumo, gently, when they're on the shore, drying off as much as possible before heading back.

He's about to add, _We'll figure it out_ , doesn't know if he means the aura or everything that comes with it, and isn't sure who he'd be trying to reassure more. He wants to say, _Nothing's changed,_ but it wouldn't be true because _everything_ _has_. He finds that he can't quite manage anything at all and so the word hangs by itself in the air between them.

"Hey," answers Mikoto, simply, and it's in his eyes, written all over his face: it's enough.

**Author's Note:**

> for chiaki, whose company on this rowboat over the years means more than words can convey :')


End file.
